Stolen in Love

by G. G. Andrew

  Diane stared at him. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

  No, Kim Xavier didn’t want his help. She had a police file as thick as one of Bette’s paperback westerns, and Kim knew he knew it. She wasn’t a fan of cops.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked. Kim had been found guilty of theft numerous times, and she probably hung with a bad crowd. He wasn’t surprised someone had broken into her place.

  “Come to our home this morning. Go with her to the apartment, see if you can discover any clues to find out who did this and apprehend them.”

  Scott scrunched up his lips, trying to summon a response.

  Diane took a step towards him. Her blue eyes shone a bit glassy and her self-possession slipped a moment, her voice growing slightly tremulous around the edges. “She’s scared, Scott. She might not show it to the world, but she is. They left a note.”

  “A note?”

  “Yes.” Diane took a deep breath. “Calling her a—a bitch, and saying to ‘give it up,’ whatever it is.”

  “Hmm.” Scott’s jaw tightened. As untrustworthy as Kim was, something in him hardened at the idea of someone threatening her. A note like that? It was a threat.

  “I’ll come over,” he said.

  She inhaled and took a step back, her composure sliding back into place. “She’s here this morning, but she’ll be working later. She’d just gotten into the shower when I slipped out. If you could come soon…”

  He cast a glance behind him, wondering if Bette was listening from the kitchen. “I need to grab a shower too and make sure Lily’s grandmother can take her to preschool.”

  “Yes. Of course. That’s completely understandable. Just come by when you’re available.” Diane moved to exit, but turned back to him before she reached the front door. “Thank you,” she said, the tremor back in her voice.

  His front door closed again.

  “Shit.”

  Scott wanted to see Kim Xavier again about as much as he wanted to experience a nuclear holocaust or a Sex in the City marathon. Because despite her long-ass police record, her lies, and her smart mouth, this morning’s run-in had shown him he wasn’t over her.

  Maybe if he figured out who’d broken into her place and put the guy behind bars, she’d return back to her apartment. Which would be the best thing for everybody involved. Because if history had proven anything to him, it was that falling for women like Kim only spelled disaster for him.

  Chapter Three

  Kim

  Staying with her mother was like working in a factory. It was a sterile environment, you always felt tired when you got there, and you were lucky if you lasted a day without losing a limb.

  Her parents’ house even needed one of those signs you see in factories, This building has gone this number of days without an accident. Except, in her case, the countdown would be to the inevitable argument with her mother. So far it’d been fourteen and a half hours, which in the Xavier household was akin to a Christmas miracle.

  She showered, dressed, dried and crimped her hair, and wiped the condensation off the mirror in her parents’ immaculate bathroom to put on her makeup.

  Last night she’d left almost immediately after she’d seen how trashed her place was, and then that note. She didn’t know if whoever had done that was coming back, but she wasn’t going to wait around and see. Her hand shook as she rimmed her eyes in eyeliner. She seemed to be feeling more freaked out as she got further away from last night. The shock, she guessed, was probably wearing off—at least that’s what Dr. Park would say.

  She lowered the eyeliner and examined her face in the mirror: wide brown eyes, brown hair falling around her shoulders.

  She didn’t appear scared, but then again, she never did. Maybe it was her superpower. It was mostly internal, and inside she was in trouble. She grabbed a tube of dark red lipstick and applied it to her mouth, pouting and rubbing her lips together in the mirror. The shade complimented the v-neck black top she’d discovered in her old room, and she’d borrowed a pair of her mother’s slacks to wear with it, the pants ironed perfectly. Her mother and sister Laurel both had taller, slimmer bodies, and Kim was surprised she’d managed to wiggle her hips in such a way that she could fit the pants over her curves.

  She had to go back home eventually, if only to pick up some pants. She couldn’t stay at her parents’ forever. She and her mom would come to blows eventually. The problem was, she didn’t feel like going to Laurel’s, either. Since she’d hooked up with an artist, Laurel’s place was probably full of paint fumes and sex noises. As for her brother, Ian, they weren’t all that close. He was a twenty-seven-year-old guy, and though he was an up-and-coming attorney during the day, she suspected he spent his evenings playing video games and wiping cheese curl crumbs on the couch like he’d done when they were in high school.

  She sighed and opened the door.

  Across from the bathroom, the door to her parents’ master bedroom stood wide open. The lights were off, and in the dimness she could see her father’s watch laying atop the spotless dresser. He was off playing tennis or something. Kim’s gut tightened for a moment and her fingers tingled. If she just—she clenched her fist.

  This is how it was. It made her feel better, in a fucked-up way, to take something, even small things—especially small things.

  Until it made her feel worse. Much worse.

  “Oh, good, you’re dressed.”

  Kim whipped around and saw her mother walking down the hall towards her. If she knew what Kim was thinking, her voice didn’t give it away, but she brushed past Kim to shut the master door, the scent of expensive perfume wafting lightly from her—gardneias and lilies, applied with a steady, controlled finger.

  Kim said, “I was thinking about going to Laurel’s before work.”

  Diane pursed her lips together. “Why don’t you wait a few minutes? Let’s go sit down in the living room and talk.”

  “Talk?” Kim said. “Did I do something?”

  “No,” Diane answered, walking back down the hallway. “Can’t I talk to my own daughter?”

  “O-kay.” She reluctantly followed. She smelled something funny about the situation, and it wasn’t that Bixie had had an accident on the spotless cream carpet or gleaming hardwood floors of her parents’ home. Was she about to get a lecture on getting dressed late? Or maybe how she had to find an apartment in a better neighborhood. That was probably it.

  For some reason, being in her mother’s presence always morphed her back into a teenaged brat about to be caught red-handed. Maybe it was the way her mother treated her like she couldn’t be trusted to make any adult decisions, like she was a child always itching to have her hand in the cookie jar. Inevitably, in the past, she’d usually give in—which in her case meant stealing—which made her guilty and angry, and the cycle would begin again. It’d long since stopped being about why she’d first began stealing stuff and more about the high she felt when her hands clasped something that wasn’t hers, the rush that drowned out the rest of her thoughts.

  She was working on her self-esteem with Dr. Park, but it was hard to convince yourself you weren’t a dirtbag when you had a police record.

  Diane sat neatly in one of the armchairs as Kim dropped to the couch. Bixie jumped on her mother’s lap.

  “How are you feeling?” Diane asked.

  “Like I’ve been robbed.”

  Diane sighed. “When’s your next appointment with Dr. Park?”

  “Today, actually.” Kim chuckled. “Lucky timing, right?”

  “Mmm.” Fear flitted across her mother’s face.

  Kim softened her voice. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Kim had decided to take the sarcasm down a few notches when her mom glanced quickly at her watch.

  “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

  Diane studied her. “No.”

  “You just checked your watch.”

  “I wanted to know the time.”


  Her mother held her gaze dead-on, not betraying any emotion or hidden design, but with a sinking feeling Kim knew something was up.

  “Is someone coming here?”

  Diane opened her mouth to speak. But then a knock came at the door.

  She narrowed her eyes at her mother. “Mom, who’s at the door?”

  Diane stood up, smoothing down her slacks. “Be polite, Kimberly. He’s here to help.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Who is at the door, Mom?”

  The knock came again.

  “Uhh!” Kim sprung up from the couch, annoyed at her mother and then annoyed at her hand, which of its own accord reached up to smooth down her hair because she damn well knew who was at the door.

  She flung it open.

  Scott Culpepper stood on the stoop, outfitted in a dark police uniform.

  She threw a glare over her shoulder at her mother before turning to face Scott. “Why, Officer Culpepper,” she said brightly. She turned, addressing her next words to the stony-faced woman behind her. “What a complete and utter surprise!”

  Her parents had called her sneaky before, but you had to admit, she came by it honestly.

  “Kim,” Diane said, a note of warning in her voice.

  Fifteen hours without an argument. It was a new record at least.

  “Your mother told me you had a break-in at your apartment,” his deep voice said behind her. Professional, like she hadn’t seen him shirtless less than an hour ago.

  She whipped around and met his eyes. “I’m sorry, Officer Culpepper, that my mother called you over here while I was in the shower. I’m fine.”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s no problem. I’d like to help.”

  “Thanks but no thanks. I got this.”

  “Kim!” Diane’s voice rose, her usual disapproval with Kim’s decisions now mixed with the terror of social embarrassment. She took two steps forward.

  “I can handle this, Mom.” She turned her back to Scott Culpepper.

  Diane’s face and voice were firm behind her. “You can’t handle this, Kimberly. Tell him what you found. Let him search your apartment. This is his job.”

  Kim exhaled hard, but Scott caught her eye for a beat. His irises were the perfect blue of the ocean off the coast of California, and in the middle of stodgy New England, they reminded her that she wanted to be anywhere but here.

  He reached behind her to the door, saying, “Excuse me, Mrs. Xavier,” and Kim thought he meant to come in, but he closed the front door behind her, nudging her onto the door stoop with him while her mother remained inside.

  Her lips parted in surprise.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “H-hi?”

  His blond hair was combed but damp, like he’d taken a shower too. As she got her bearings, she realized he was probably trying to calm her and isolate her, get the story without interference from her mother. She’d seen a few old episodes of Under Arrest.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

  Kim took a deep breath, resigned. “I came home from work to my apartment last night. The door was unlocked, but I thought I’d forgotten to lock it.” She folded her arms over her silky black top. “Then I come in and see there’s stuff everywhere. Dishes on the counters, coats on the floor, everything. I didn’t stop to see if I had a visitor. I just high-tailed it out of there.”

  Scott nodded. “Any idea who might’ve done this?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it narrowed down to three suspects. It’s got to be either the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker.”

  At his lowered eyebrows, Kim exhaled. “No, I have no idea.”

  “Anyone angry at you? Upset enough to do this?”

  “Other than my mother right now? Nobody comes to mind.”

  “Anyone you upset in the past? Any old boyfriends? Any—” he stopped like his lips couldn’t quite form the words, “new boyfriends?”

  “None that would do this, I don’t think.”

  “You don’t think or you’re not sure?”

  “The first one. I think.” She uncrossed her arms, sighed, and waved her hands. “Look, don’t worry about this. I’m handling it.” She hadn’t actually evolved much of a plan beyond the get the fuck out she’d put into action last night, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d figure out a way; she always did.

  She also knew Scott Culpepper didn’t want to be in the same neighborhood as her, let alone helping her with a case. He’d made that much clear last fall. As much as she had to admit that telling him about the break-in made her feel comforted for the first time since coming home to a trashed apartment—somehow his blue eyes and deep voice were making her feel protected, if only for a minute—she had to put a stop to this.

  Scott studied her, his hands on his hips and his sea-water eyes narrowed like he was trying to suss her out. She felt simultaneously flattered and exposed. “You need to file a police report,” he finally said.

  She laughed. “No way.”

  “It’s what’s usually done. I’d advise you to do it.”

  “Can you imagine me walking into the station and reporting that some asshole broke into my place and stole from me? Do you know what all the cops would do? They’d laugh.”

  Scott’s mouth was a firm line. “Citizens shouldn’t take these matters into their own hands.”

  She straightened. “I can handle myself. I know Judo.”

  “You know how to protect yourself physically?”

  She shrugged. “Well, no. I’m trying to say different things to get you off my back. Is any of this working?”

  He huffed, a glimmer of exasperation in his cool cop exterior, and dropped his hands from his hips. “Can you go one minute without lying?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Can you tell me why you’re really doing this?” He probably thought she was a piece of crap like the rest of the cops down at the station. Not that they were wrong, but she didn’t like seeing their faces right in front of her confirming it. Her mother must’ve made him agree with some Jedi guilt mind trick.

  In the silence that stretched while she waited for him to answer, her eyes checked him out of their own accord. The dark fabric of his uniform stretched across his wide shoulders, and his pants were so pressed and smooth, she wondered how it’d feel to rake her nails down them.

  Was he the type of guy to iron his pants? Yes, he was definitely the type. He probably did it shirtless while listening to a ball game in the background.

  Realizing what she was doing, her head shot up and she caught Scott still staring at her, something less guarded in his expression.

  “Someone broke into your place,” he said tentatively. “Let me help. I’m a cop.”

  To throw them off—both his obligatory offer of help and her unwanted attraction—she decided to just say it. “You think I’m trash.”

  He blinked. “I don’t.”

  “You don’t want to be around me.”

  He sighed. “I never said that.” He rubbed his face. “You need my help. The sooner we catch this guy, the sooner you can get back to staying at your apartment instead of your parents’.”

  “Ah,” Kim said. “Bingo.”

  Scott shook his head and looked away. “Don’t you want to be out of here?”

  In response, she glanced at the front window and saw a side of the curtain fall, like they’d had someone spying on them. “Desperately.”

  “Well, then.” He fished a set of keys out of his pocket. “I’ve got to get to work in a couple hours. I’ll follow your car to your apartment and have a look around. Unless you’re busy?”

  “No…” She leaned her head back and stared into the blue spring sky. “Just give me a second to get my bag and keys.”

  Scott reached around her to push open the front door. “I’m going with her to the apartment, Mrs. Xavier,” he said politely, but Kim couldn’t muster up annoyance at her mother’s smugness because the officer had moved close enough that she could smell
Ivory soap and feel the heat coming from his body.

  With a jerk, he turned from the door and strode off towards his car.

  Great, she was starting to really get the hots for an officer. This was going to add a new layer to her stealing compulsion.

  ~

  When they both pulled up to her apartment, Kim didn’t wait for him but instead marched towards the complex quickly, not eager to have her neighbors spot her with a police escort. She heard his car door shut, and as she clomped up the steps to her second-story place, Scott’s heavy footsteps fell behind her.

  The door was shut, just as she’d left it. Good. That meant the intruder hadn’t been back. Maybe.

  Her steps slowed and she took a deep breath as she fished her keys out of her purse. She moved to unlock the door, wishing her hand wasn’t trembling.

  It was just a stupid kid searching for some easy cash and leaving a stupid note. She’d been through worse. Multiple arrests, some trials, her mother’s disapproving frown. She had this.

  As she turned the key, Scott’s hand fell on her forearm.

  “Wait.” He had his other hand on his holster, his eyes alert. “Let me go first,” he said in a low voice.

  She swallowed and stepped to the side, but he kept his hand on her arm, guiding her behind him. She didn’t feel as safe here as she did before the break-in, but she felt more secure than she would’ve expected with Officer Culpepper by her side. It was probably the gun.

  He turned. “Wait here,” he whispered as he turned the key and the door opened with a soft pop.

  The lights were still off inside, and as Scott disappeared into the dim interior, he drew his gun.